


Peeping Tom

by TwistedTale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Jokes, F/M, Handcuffs, Mental Anguish, Nudity, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedTale/pseuds/TwistedTale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, spying your your rather attractive neighbor can be a good thing. In Hermione's case, it has lead to a new friendship, helped her come out of her shell, and has even helped her get her first date in years. But there is more to Tom Riddle than meets the eye, and Hermione isn't sure if she likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peeping Tom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZombieReine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieReine/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> An: This is my submission for the spring fic exchange on the Gutter City Tomione Forum. Come check us out! 
> 
> I got my bestie when I drew and she got me! Luck? Perhaps. Anyway I hope you enjoy my dear, I wrote it for you after all!
> 
> One more thing this is, for the moment, unbetaed, read at your own risk (Although Its not TOO bad)

Peeping Tom

\--

Hermione was stalking the man next door. Well, she wouldn’t call it _stalking_ it was more like…observing intently… with increasing frequency. _Face it Hermione Granger, you are a stalker. You are no better than Pansy Parkinson._ She sighed at the thought before furiously shaking her head. Pansy’s stalking made her a public nuisance; Hermione’s on the other hand was completely harmless. Well it was harmless to anyone but herself, but even then the harm was very small.

Her watch’s alarm went off.

Without another thought about stalkers and Pansy, she dragged her little stool out from under the table by the door and positioned it in front of said door. When she was content with how it was centered she carefully stepped up onto it to peer out the peephole.  It was 5:29. In exactly one minute the object of her stal- _observations_ would appear. He was always punctual; she liked that in a man. Sure enough he was there not even a minute later and her heart skipped a beat. He was wearing all black today, and she drank in the sight of him greedily as he paused directly in front of her peephole to grope his pockets for his keys, as he did every day.

It felt like her own private little show, watching his hands move along his hips and pockets had her hypnotized, he had rather large hands. Her aunt Tessie had a rather interesting theory about men with large hands. She had never put much stock into what her aunt had said in the past, but as of late she was thinking rather hard all of those theories… especially in regards to Mr. T. Riddle.

She let out a little sigh of disappointment when he finally found his keys and walked out of sight. Hermione took a step down from her stool and placed it back under the table before rushing to her bedroom. Her room was done in reds and golds, all a proud shout out to her old college dormitories. Her walls were a pale gold, her bed sheets and pillow cases solid red, her bookshelf was made of cherry and gave off a reddish glow in the light.

Her bed was pressed up against one wall, and a sturdy oak desk she had had since she was a teenager directly across from it. It didn’t match the cherry wood theme she had decided on, but she couldn’t stand the thought of giving it away, there were too many memories. Across its surface were various knickknacks Harry and Ron had gotten her from the places they went, paper upon paper from her last research project, a bevy of pens, and a tiny desk lamp.

Against every wall was a book shelf. Harry would always tease her about the sheer amount of books she had. Every time he visited her he would peer around with a sly smile. “Are you sure didn’t move into a library?” He would ask.

She would promptly throw a pillow at him, which he ALWAYS caught before it could make impact. The man had insane reflexes. But it wasn’t the desk or the book shelves that she went to, as she might have in the past. Instead she went to her bed. It was large, a queen, and rather comfortable. But she did not lay down on it; instead she pushed her pillows out of the way, settled down on her knees, and pressed her hands against her wall. She let her hands trace over the wallpaper for a moment before she gently took down the picture she had of a pride of lions, setting it onto her bedside table, and slowly pulling out the screw that held the painting up.

She had done this so many times it slid right out. When she had the screw in hand she placed it next to the painting and leaned against the all, wriggling around until she was comfortable before pressing her cheek against the wall and peering through the hole.

There was his bedroom, and there he was. He was undressing, she realized, and her mouth went dry.  There were those hands she was half in love with, unbuttoning the dress shirt he had worn that day, revealing inch after inch of pale flesh. _Look away_ she mentally scolded when his hand went for his pants button.  She might have been a stalker, but she wasn’t a voyeur. She waited five minutes to be sure he would be dressed again before peering back into his room.

He was clothed in only in a pair of dark green pajama bottoms, his favorite she guessed considering he wore them more than any other pair she had seen, and in the month she had been watching him she had seen a great many pairs. His room was set up in the same way hers was in regards to space, except his bed was pressed against the wall across from where she peered in. Below her peephole was a low level bookshelf, he would set his cellphone on top of it every night to charge. To her left was a closet that was always a jar open and she could see a few of his shirts, neatly hung. It was to an old fashioned trunk at the foot of his bed he went though.

She had never seen him open it, and even if he had she wouldn’t have been able to see what was in it. It was facing toward the closet. Still she doubted he would open it tonight. She was right. He went for the laptop that he left on the top of the trunk, deftly flipping it to face the foot of his bed before he climbed onto the comfortable looking king. He lay on his stomach, one arm propped under his chin, his other typing deftly across the keys.

Hermione was disappointed. Most nights he would pick a book and take it to bed with him, and she would listen eagerly as he mumbled what he was reading out loud. She might not have been able to understand him clearly, but the low rumble of his voice was like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. Sometimes she fell asleep listening to him talk, and in the morning she would wake, still pressed against the wall. Those days she would suffer a stiff back and achy legs. _It’s worth it though._

The thought didn’t alarm her as much as it used to, when the whole ‘observation’ thing started.

It had been an accident…

**_One month, three days ago._ **

“Honestly Hermione, it won’t take more than a few minutes,” Ron said as he set the final box of her books down onto her neatly made bed. The comforter was definitely dirty now, she thought crossly. She would wash it as soon as Ron left.

“Ronald,” she started. She saw him cringe at the use of his name. “I do not need your help putting up one measly picture.”

“I just thought you might want some experienced hands helping out is all.” He and his brothers had practically built half of their house on their own, constantly building, patching, and expanding it as needed.

But her pride had her sending the red head packing. “I can do it on my own!” She insisted. “Honestly it’s not rocket science.”

“No it’s not.” He smiled a wistful smile. “I am convinced you can do damn near anything if you tried. I have never met anyone as smart as you.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat and quickly turned away from him before he could see her blush. “Language Ronald,” she mumbled. She fiddled with the box in front of her to seem busy so as not to turn around and show her embarrassment.

“Ginny asked me to tell you about the new club down the street. She is going with a few friends of hers and wondered if you wanted to tag along.”

Hermione shuddered at the thought. “Tell her thank you, but no.”

Ron sighed. “Ginny won’t be happy, this is the fifth time you have turned her down.”

“You know I don’t like clubs.”

“Or noise, or drinks, or _fun_.”

Hermione sniffed. “I like fun, I just like a different kind of fun. A good book, classical music, a warm bath… _those_ things are fun. Going out to get groped by strangers and to drink so much I get sick is not my idea of a good time.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch you.”  There was something dark and protective in his tone, and memories flashed across her mind’s eye. A dark room, a horrible shrieking laugh, the pain of a biting knife. “Does it still hurt?” Ron asked in a surprisingly gentle tone.

She had been stroking her arm again, unconsciously trying to rub the phantom pain away. “Sometimes, some days I forget it is even there.”

Silence stretched out uncomfortably between them. “I’m sorry Hermione.”

She sighed. Every time they spoke about her arm he would, inevitably, apologize. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been there.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

They had had the same conversation over and over again. His guilt bringing her pain into sharp focus, she would have nightmares tonight; she always did when she had to remember. Harry had always encouraged her to go to therapy. “I will when you will.” She would always reply. He would fall silent at that, his beautiful green eyes dimming. They both knew he would never go. It was the same reason she wouldn’t go herself.

Shame.  

Her arm started to throb. “You should go now. Thank you for helping me with my books.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” She whispered to his retreating back as he walked down the hall to the front door. She followed wearily after him, hugging him goodbye, and locking the door firmly behind him when he was gone.

\--

_Ok, you press the button, the drill drills, you put in the screw. Easy peasy._ She told herself as she picked up the rather heavy drill, revving it to be sure it was working properly. She stared at her perfect walls and at the little X she had penciled above her bed. _Here goes nothing._ She pressed it gently against the wall and hit the trigger. It spun quickly, but no drilling was happening. _More force?_ Hermione pressed a bit and to her delight it slowly started working. Confidence growing she pressed harder.

That had been a bad idea.

The drill buckled and shot forward at an alarming speed. Hermione instantly let go of the trigger and slowly pulled it out of the wall. _Oh no…_

There was a hole in her wall. She stared at it, dumbfounded. She had put a hole in her wall. MUCH bigger than the one she had intended. It was still rather small, but to Hermione it might as well have been a gaping chasm. She could see clear on through to the next flat…and see into the next room with a decent amount of clarity.

There were boxes, a mattress, a bedframe… someone was moving in.

_And when they move in they will notice the great gaping hole in their bedroom… I should call Ron._ The phone was in her hand and Ron’s number half dialed before she remembered how she had sent him away. She put the receiver down. She would admit that pride was one of her many vices. She would deal with the hole herself.

But how did one go about such things? Plaster?

Hermione wouldn’t know what to do with plaster! But perhaps she could plug it and her new neighbor wouldn’t notice. She went to her toolbox and shuffled through it, picking up a combination of screws and nails that looked like they MIGHT fit and shoving them into the too large hole. None of them worked.

She was near tears when she finally found a screw that didn’t slip out of the hole, and she laughed in giddy excitement when she found that it also could support the painting. That would keep the light from her room reaching the other. If she were lucky the new tenant wouldn’t notice it at all! It wasn’t THAT big after all. In fact, they might just put a piece of furniture over it. It could go undiscovered for years!

Reality caught up with her.

Someone was going to notice. But perhaps they wouldn’t judge her too harshly when she explained what had happened. _I will offer to pay for it._ She thought as she turned back her comforter and slipped under the sheets. _And everything will be ok._

That was her last thought before she drifted off-

-only to be awoken by something smashing down on her head. Hermione shot up, a scream fighting its way up her throat as she peered around the room for the threat. _I am in my flat, it’s alright, I am in my flat, it’s alright._ She mentally chanted as she tried to get her breathing in order. She made her muscles relax and slowly forced her arms down from hugging herself. _It’s alright._ She thought, and believed it. The nightmare wasn’t real. But what had bashed her on the head?

She shifted and something clattered to the floor. _The painting._ She thought in relief. It had gotten loose and hit her on her head. Hermione pushed the sheets back and bent down to pick it up. The screw lay a few feet next to it. _At least I will not have to go searching for it._ She picked them both up and set them on her bedside table. She would deal with it in the morning.

She was about to curl back under her covers and go back to sleep when a beam of light caught her attention.

It was from the next flat over.

Normally Hermione wouldn’t have dared looked into another person’s home, but there was something drawing her to look… almost daring her to.  If she had believed that magic was possible she might have said that it was as if a compulsion charm had been put on her. But she knew better than to believe.

Nevertheless, it _felt_ like something was drawing her to look. So look she did. The room was much the same as it was that morning, except this time there was someone standing inside the room. A man, he was looking around with a bemused smile on his face. Her breath caught in her throat.

The man was a god. He must have been. She didn’t know if it was the bonk on the head or her half asleep state that brought up the thought. But she didn’t really care as she watched him move about the room. He moved slowly, reaching out to touch everything as if committing the feel of each object to memory. There was a mirror propped by the bedframe and he paused at it, tilting his head first to one side, then to the other, examining his profile with startling intensity.  His midnight hair flopped back and forth with each movement and she envied how shiny it was. She then caught a glimpse of his eyes in the mirror.

Grey, dark grey, like storm clouds right before a downpour, turbulent and wild- she was surprised she could see him that well. _Mirror must have magnified him a bit…_ she thought. She didn’t bother trying to figure it out as he slowly turned to face her.

_Shit!_ She ducked down, her heart racing a million miles an hour. He had seen her, he must have, she wasn’t exactly being subtle. She stayed crouched down, pressed against the wall, waiting for the knock on her door and Mr. Storm Eyes’ wrath. _Oh God I am a peeping tom. What is WRONG with me? I should be in jail._

But no knock came. Hermione could scarcely believe it. After a half an hour had passed she dared to peak again. He was still there, except he looked more troubled than before. His rather long fingers were laced, his chin resting on top of the interwoven fingers. He was sitting on the bed, which he had apparently put together while she had hid, and he looked very deep in thought. He was as still as a statue, and she might have thought he was one if she didn’t see him blink and breathe.

What could he have to think so deeply about at- she glanced at her clock- three in the morning?

She didn’t know. But it looked important. She sat watching him think for a good long time and almost had dozed off when he suddenly stood, startling her. He paced the length of the room, once, twice, three times, before leaving the room rather abruptly.

Hermione stared after him, questions burning in her brain.

Who was the beautiful man next door? What was he thinking so deeply about? Why didn’t he see her peeping? When would he come back? WHERE had he gone in such a hurry at this time a night?

She had not felt been this curious about something in a very long time. She was sorely tempted to go over and ask, but common sense kicked in. What on earth would she tell him?

“Hello neighbor! My name is Hermione, I am in the flat next to yours. Listen I have been spying on you through a hole in my wall and have a few questions…”

Yeah, that would go over well. She would simply have to let the curiosity die… _Like that is going to happen._ When had she EVER been able to turn away from a project? It had been too long since her last one anyway, and for this she wouldn’t have to leave the house.

She was so excited by the prospect that she almost couldn’t fall back to sleep, but sleep she did, and this time no nightmare reached her.

\--

_First things first, his name._ That one would be easy, all the flats had mailboxes in the lobby of the building and the names of each tenant below them. So as soon as she had showered and dressed she crept down the main staircase to the lobby. There was no one around, to her relief, and she made her way to the mail boxes. Hermione was on the fifth floor, flat twenty, the man’s should be right next to hers.

Sure enough, there he was. The ink was new and gleamed in the light, someone had just put it up. T. Riddle.

_Riddle…why does that name sound familiar?_ She wished she had thought to bring her computer from her parent’s house. In-depth research would have to wait until she could convince someone to get it for her. The brief thought to go to the library crossed her mind, but the idea was quickly squashed. The library was too dangerous to go to alone. She could ask Harry, he would have access to more information than any other source she could find. He DID have access to police files. But then Harry would ask her WHY she wanted the information and then the worry and suspicion would start. She wouldn’t be able to get Ginny and Ron out of her hair for weeks. Not to mention the police detail he would have on her, and Mr. Riddle would be followed and spied on. She could not, would not, have that.  

_I will just do this on my own. No one else needs to know._ That decided she turned on her heel and started her way back up the stairs.

\--

She figured out his schedule after a week of careful observation. He was an early riser, but that seemed to be because he didn’t sleep well. He had nightmares that made him toss and turn, moaning loudly. His face would twist into alarming expressions and sometimes he would laugh in his sleep, and it sent chills down her spine. There was cruelty in that laugh… it made her arm throb just hearing it. If he didn’t look so disturbed when he woke, she would have done her best to forget him. Some days he would just lie back in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, sometimes well into the afternoon. He would, inevitably, leave. But he always came back by 5:30. Sometimes he came back with groceries, other times he would return with books, usually he came home empty handed.

Each time she saw him her curiosity would grow. Nothing he did seemed to make any sense. Did he have a job? If he did how did he maintain it and spend so much time at home? What haunted this man so? From what she could tell his demons could rival hers. All of his things were new, even the cellphone and laptop. Nothing he had could possibly more than a few weeks old except for the old trunk… but even that could be new as well if he bought it second hand.

Had he come into a fortune? Had he won a court case like she had?

She longed to ask, but something held her back. It wasn’t that she was afraid to give too much away, Hermione was a good actress when she had to be. It wasn’t fear, Hermione had seen enough of the man that her deep fear of strangers was gone in his case, she KNEW him. There was no logical reason why she shouldn’t go over and introduce herself. But the apprehension stopped her, even though there didn’t seem to be any logical reason for it.

So she watched, and might have watched forever if not for Harry….

\--

**_Present Day_ **

The sound of someone pounding at her door woke Hermione. She had fallen asleep against the wall again, she thought with a sigh, and stretched slowly. Her neck popped and she winced as the blood rushed back to her limbs. The pounding grew louder. She frowned and slowly made her way to the front door.

“I’m coming, keep your knickers on.” She muttered angrily.

She finally reached the door, dragged out her stool, and peered out at the persistent knocker. It was Harry. She stepped down with a sigh and kicked the stool back under the table. Her best friend was mid knock when she opened the door. He stared at her for a moment before enveloping her in a large hug.

“Thank god.” He said into her hair. “I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

After a moment of tolerating the embrace Hermione slowly untangled herself from him. “What made you think I was in trouble?” She asked when they had separated and she had ushered him into her living room. 

“I haven’t heard from you in a week, and it’s not just me. Ron, Ginny, your parents-”

“Oh don’t tell me you called my parents.”

“What else could I do? No one has heard from you and I didn’t want to take the risk that something had happened to you!”

Sudden guilt seized her. “I didn’t even think of it that way… I was just so wrapped up in this project I have been doing.”

Harry perked at that. “You’re doing research again?”

Hermione looked down at her hands. “Not exactly, it’s more of a personal project.”

Harry reached out and took both of her hands in his. “But it’s a start. Knowing you like I do you will not be able to stop once you start. I bet you could even get your job back at the university-!” She tensed up and Harry noticed. He squeezed her hands gently. “But I am getting ahead of myself. I am just glad you are alright.”

Hermione gave a small smile. “I am glad you thought of me. But next time just call me instead of my parents, they are probably worried sick now.”

Harry grimaced. “I will talk to them if you like.”

She shook her head. “No, I will talk to them. It HAS been a while. Do you mind waiting for a bit?”

“Yeah, no worries, I took today off.”

Hermione fixed Harry and herself a cup of tea while she talked to her mother. It took her twenty minutes of assuring the teary woman that she was fine, eating right, and not just sitting about doing nothing. She finally hung up with a sigh, flopping back onto her couch and leaning into Harry who looked down at her with an amused smirk.

“That was exhausting.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I will remember this the next time YOUR mother calls.”

Harry grimaced for a moment before brightening. “I will make it up to you.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, “what did you have in mind?”

\--

“Well… this isn’t what I expected.”

All around her was the sound of animals. Puppies yipped, kittens mewled, birds squawked, guinea pigs made their high whooping noises. Above the din was the whirring of fish tank filters and the humming of heating lamps.

Harry grinned. “You were talking about getting a guard dog, so I thought I would get you one. It can look after you when Ron and I are away, and it will get you out of the house. Not to mention dogs make great pets.”

Harry would know. His godfather bred show dogs, and had given Harry a pup of his own. A large floppy puppy he called Snuffles. He shed, and drooled, but he was absolutely loyal to Harry and she was convinced that dog would take a bullet for his master.

“I don’t know…”

“Just take a look around, and if you find one you like I will pay for it. Along with all the amenities.”

Hermione frowned “I don’t need you to. I have money.”

“I know, but this is my way of apologizing. Let me do this for you Hermione.”

She sighed. “Ok, let’s take a look at these mutts.”

With a boyish grin that took years off of his face, Harry dragged her over to the dogs. Harry must have planned the entire trip out, because a local animal rescue just HAPPENED (or so he claimed) to be there that day.

“Just pick the one that feels right.” Harry said encouragingly.

“I can’t with you looking over my shoulder, go and pick out dog food or something.”

Harry shrugged. “Alright, I will be just over there if you need me.”

It was easier to look at each dog without Harry’s chattering at her about why each canine they passed would the best one for her. None of them called to her though. She found problems with each and every one. Too messy, to ugly, they clashed with her furniture. She was about to give up when she heard a low growl.

It was a cat.

He was the oldest cat she had seen in the store, not old by any means, but he was obviously not a kitten. He was in a cage all on his own. He was large, orange, and his face looked pushed in. Something in his expression though drew her to him. The cat looked up at her with golden eyes, looking her over as intently as she looked him over. She stuck a finger through the bars of the cage and the cat gave the appendage a careful sniff before briefly rubbing his cheek against it.

“You are the first person he hasn’t tried to claw,” a woman, who introduced herself as the director of the small rescue, said.

“He seems sweet.”

The woman snorted. “I would call him many things but sweet isn’t one of them. I can’t say I blame him for his attitude though. Humans haven’t treated him kindly in his life, he was an abuse case, one of the worst I have seen. But unless he starts responding better we may have to put him down.”

Hermione looked at the poor wretched creature in the cage. His golden eyes were half lidded and his tail was lazily twitching. He was huddled in his litter box now, glaring at everyone who passed. “Can I try and hold him?”

The woman had cringed. “You can try at your own risk.”

Hermione saw bandages all over the woman’s hands. “I will be careful.”

So the woman had opened the cage. The orange cat had growled as she did. But his attention was quickly captured by Hermione.  She reached for him and his ears went back. She paused. “I understand,” she whispered, moving very slowly. “People have hurt me too.”

The cat’s ear twitched.

She stopped moving her hand toward him half way into the cage.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”  She said with a waggle of her fingers.

“Merowr.” The cat said in return and leapt out of the litter box to meet her half way. She scratched him behind the ears, and he gave a low raspy purr.

“I’ll take him.”

\--

The newly dubbed Crookshanks eyed his domain with a disdainful eye, before looking back up at Hermione.

“It’s not THAT bad.”

The cat gave a little sniff and trotted into the house, pausing to glare at every piece of furniture he passed. “Well if you don’t like it you don’t have to sit on it.”

_Why am I defending myself to a cat?_ She shook her head. _Perhaps Harry is right, I should get out more._

Hermione set Crookshanks’ new toys and scratching post aside (all paid for by Harry) and made her way into the kitchen to make them both some dinner. She split a can of tuna between the two of them, in a dish for the cat, and on a sandwich for her. Crookshanks refused to touch his until she sat his bowl on the table across from her. And so it was that Hermione had dinner with a cat.

After the dishes were washed and put away Hermione decided to call it an early night, being out in public for so long had drained her. When she made her way to bed she didn’t notice the orange ball of fur at her heels, but she did notice him though when he leapt onto the comforter and curled against her leg. _He will shed all over._ She was about to kick him out when he let out that low raspy purr that had convinced her to adopt him, and she lost all urge to shoo him off the comforter.   _I will just wash it in the morning._ She thought contentedly.

She fell asleep listening to that purr and for the first time in a long time, she slept without nightmares, or thinking of the mysterious man who lived next door.

\--

Crookshanks fit into her life as if he had always been there, and even though it had been a week she felt like he had been with her forever. Where she went, he went, idly watching as she went about her observations of her neighbor, proving comfort and a listening ear to her theories about the man, and about her internal conflict regarding him.

“I mean really there would be nothing wrong with me talking to him, right?”

The cat purred in return, and she smiled and scratched him under his chin.

“I just need to force myself to do it one day.”

The cat opened his golden eyes and stared at her in such a way that she was convinced he could understand her. _But that is just silly, he might be a smart cat but no animal is THAT smart._ She put the thought out of her head when her watch gave the familiar beep that let her know T. Riddle was coming home.

He was late. _That’s not like him at all._ She hovered by the door for a few minutes more before walking back to her couch with a sigh, ready and willing to complain to her cat again. But the feline was nowhere to be found. She frowned.

“Crookshanks?”

“Merow.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

The cat was out on her balcony, walking along on the balcony railing. _How on earth did he get out there? I didn’t leave that door open!_

“Get back in here this instant!” She hissed.

Unconcerned with his mistresses concern the cat trotted along the railing until he was out of view. Hermione had to fight the urge to run after the cat. _I could scare him and he could fall._ She knew the old legend about cats always landing on their feet was false; she could lose her closest companion after only a week!

Slowly she stepped out onto the balcony. Crookshanks was sitting where her balcony joined her neighbors, contentedly washing a paw.

“Crookshanks!” She yell/whispered. The cat glanced at her and flicked an ear. “Come here.” The cat stood and she thought he might obey her but he simply turned his back on her and leapt onto T. Riddle’s balcony.

_Oh no. Ohnoohnoohno._

The door that led into Riddle’s flat was open, and her cat was making a beeline for it.

“Don’t! Bad kitty!”

He ignored her, and with a twitch of his tail he disappeared into the flat.

Now Hermione had a dilemma. She could sneak in after the cat, collect him, and sneak back out. Or wait for Riddle to come home, go next door and ask the man she had been stalking if she could search his flat for her runaway feline.

Hermione decided on option number one. With a gulp, she slowly climbed over the bars separating the two balconies and crept toward the open door. She peered in. As she expected the man was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t come in at any moment. She would have to search fast.

It wouldn’t be too difficult either.

He  must have been a Spartan in a past life, because he only had the barest of necessities. The walls were uniform white. No color, no pictures, nothing personal. There were only a few scattered pieces of furniture lying about. Three large uncomfortable looking chairs and a coffee table dominated the room.  The chairs were scattered into each corner of the room, and only one of them looked like she would be willing to sit in it for any length of time.

She didn’t understand the positioning of the coffee table at all. It was right in the middle of the room and not near any of the chairs at all. She didn’t have time to think about it though, she had to find Crookshanks, and when she did he would get the scolding of his life.

The cat wasn’t under any of the furniture though. With dread she realized she would have to explore the rest of the house to find him. _Don’t panic, Riddle isn’t home, I should be fine._

With that in mind she crept toward the kitchen. It was large and open and as sparse as the living room was. There were a few pots and pans, all new, hanging down over an island in the middle of the room. Along the counter against the wall a place where a stove might have gone if he had one, a small fridge, and a new microwave that looked as it if had been heavily used and not cleaned. There were even more pans in the monstrous sink, but they were blackened and some of the bottoms had melted away.

_What on earth has he been doing?_

She shook her head. It wasn’t any of her business. It didn’t stop the ideas from spinning. Was he a drug addict? That would explain a lot… he seemed too lucid though. A dealer perhaps? No… she didn’t see anything that would point to that. Was he just a bad cook?

But how could he cook without a stove and still burn out the bottoms of those pans? _Could_ a stove burn out the bottoms of those pans in the first place? Could he be a closet scientist, playing with dangerous chemicals? He certainty seemed the eccentric type. _No time to ponder, I need to find Crookshanks._

He wasn’t behind the counters, or the fridge. _Not in the kitchen then._

She slowly made her way back to the living room, peering around to be sure the cat hadn’t made his way back in there. He was nowhere to be seen. The only place she hadn’t checked was a long hallway with three doors, only one of which was open.  It was the only place Crookshanks could have gone. But it was the one place she never wanted to go… at least not like this. It was Riddle’s room. Her heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t.

But she would have to, Crookshanks needed her. Even though it sounded crazy, that feline was her friend, and Hermione Granger always came through for her friends. So, adrenaline pumping, she slowly inched toward the door. _This is ridiculous. He isn’t even home. Why is my heart pounding so hard?_

She placed her hand on the wooden surface of the door and slowly started to push it open.

_WAM!_

Hermione saw stars. She could feel fingers digging into her shoulders and a body pressed up against back, pinning her against the wall by the now open door.

“Who are you, what are you doing here?” A voice, deep and masculine, growled.  His breath was hot on her ear. “Speak quickly girl and perhaps I will not hurt you.”

Suddenly Hermione was in another time, another place, and it was someone else’s voice. _This may hurt you a bit._ Almost on instinct she lifted her foot and brought her heel down on his instep.

“Ah!” He shouted in pain and his grip loosened, but he did not let her go. Hermione swung her elbow back. She caught him right in the stomach and he released her. She spun out of his grip and walked back from him. It was T. Riddle. He was coughing badly and clutching at his stomach. For a moment all she could do was stare at him, dumbfounded. _What do you know, all of those self defense classes actually paid off_ she thought faintly. He glared up at her with his storm colored eyes, and she would swear to her dying breath she saw lightning flash in their depths.

“You… will… pay for that.” He wheezed out.

“Well you shouldn’t have grabbed me!”

He was straightening up. He was taller than she had realized and she took another step away from him.

“I can do whatever the hell I want to a trespasser.” He was regaining his breath.

“You should have called the police instead of going after me, I could have been dangerous!”

At that he actually started to laugh, and an indignant blush crossed her cheeks.

“I very much doubt that.”

“Well I took you down didn’t I?”

His eyes narrowed. “You took me by surprise. It will not happen again. Now get out or I will wring that pretty little neck of yours. ”

“No.”

At that he looked surprised and faltered from his aggressive stance. “No?”

“I need to get my cat.”

At that he looked even more confused than he did before. “Your cat?”

“Yes my cat. He got out and came over here.”

“My front door was shut and locked; a cat couldn’t have gotten in here. You are lying to me.” A hint of the lightning remained in his eyes, and his hands were still curled into fists. If she made one wrong move, he would try and attack her again.

_Talk fast Granger._

“You left the door to your balcony open.”

His eyes flickered briefly over to the obviously open sliding glass door, before going back to her.

“You climbed five stories just to get a cat?”

“No I climbed OVER the barrier separating our flats. I am your neighbor.”

There Riddle looked stumped. He shook his head as if to clear it and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. “Can you prove it?” He asked tiredly.

“Yes. I have a key to my flat and the landlady knows me.”

“I will confirm it with her later then.” It was a complete turn from the aggressive man she had found, the lightning was gone from his eyes and all that was left behind was… exhaustion.

“That’s fine with me. Now can I go get my cat?”

He looked torn for a moment before grimacing. “Alright, but I will be watching you the entire time.”

She had to fight the blush that threatened to rise up. _Get a grip Granger, he probably thinks you might try and steal something!_ She nodded and walked stiffly toward his bedroom. She could feel his presence behind her. Hermione had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder at him. He hadn’t kept his distance. He was close enough to grab her again if he had to, and she knew he would if she made one wrong move.

She tried to ignore him as she opened his door and looked around.

It was odd seeing his room from this side. He had more books then she had originally thought. They were scattered in piles across the floor, they all were old, leather bound, and if she was right (and she usually was) valuable. She could see why he was protective of them, she could be too if she had caught a stranger close to her books.

She could only read the titles of a few of them though. Most were in languages she had never seen before. A few were in Latin. She tried not to linger long on the books though. She scanned the floor, but aside from a few dirty piles of clothes she no sign of her cat.

“…I think I found your cat.” He sounded disgusted. She looked back at him then at where he was looking.

There was Crookshanks, sitting on Riddle’s bed as if he owned it. His paws were curled up under him, his tail was lazily twitching, and his eyes were closed as if he were dozing.

“ _Cookshanks!_ ”

The cat opened his eyes slowly, taking his sweet time standing, stretching, and yawning, before leaping off of the bed and walking over to her.

“Meow.” He said. Looking rather pleased with himself.

“You bad naughty kitty,” she sighed in relief and scooped him up. Crookshanks purred contently in her arms.

“There was an actual cat.”

Hermione turned to look at Riddle. He seemed baffled.

“Do people lie to you often?”

“Yes.” Was his instant reply before frowning deeply. “No. Most people are honest.”

Hermione stroked Crookshanks’ head, and puzzled over his odd answer. “You seem conflicted.”

He smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “You caught me on a bad day. Normally I am rather concise.” His head jerked up suddenly as if he had heard something.  “I need you to go.”

She blinked in surprise at the sudden dismissal. “Ok. Thank you for letting me get Crookshanks.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “I will walk you out.” He walked next to her, peering about to the various corners of his flat as they passed them. If she slowed down at all his hand was instantly at her lower back, ushering her along until they were at his front door. Without a word he opened it for her and as quickly as he had opened it the door was shut again.

“What was that all about?” She asked out loud.

“Merowr.” Was Crookshanks' reply.

\--

There was someone knocking at her door. Hermione froze mid page of the book she had been reading. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Cautiously she went to the door, dragged out her stool, and peered out. Her heart stopped.

It was Mr. T. Riddle.

_What could he want?_

“Just a minute!” She called out before stepping off of the stool, kicking it off somewhere and quickly unlocking the door. She left the chain in place as she slowly pulled it open.

“Hermione Granger.” He said slowly, and a small tingle went down her spine at the way he said her name. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

“You don’t have to. I _was_ trespassing.”

“I am afraid I have to, I acted rather boorishly and I would like to make amends. Could I convince you to come out for a drink with me? I would pay of course.”

“Ok,” she said faintly.

_What are you doing? You don’t drink._ She asked herself as she ran a hand through her curls, trying to force some kind of order to them. _I guess I do now._ She replied to herself as she found her red felt coat and clutched it to her. She probably wouldn’t need it, but she desperately needed something in her hands to fiddle with and it was rather rude to bring a book along on a-

On a what? An apology drink? _Don’t read too much into this Hermione. He is just saying he is sorry is all._

It didn’t stop the images of what she WISHED it was from going through her mind.

It had been years since she had been on a legitimate date. The last being Ron and that had ended rather spectacularly. _But this isn’t a date._ She told herself as she walked back into her living room.

Riddle was standing there, peering around at everything and she suddenly felt like she should have cleaned more. “I’m ready.” She said to catch his attention.

He slowly looked her up and down before nodding. “Let’s go.”

Feeling like she had passed some kind of test, Hermione followed after him.

“See you later Crookshanks!” She called behind her. Riddle quirked an eyebrow at her and she felt her cheeks heat. “Some people talk to their pets.”

He smiled a bemused smile. “And I suppose sometimes those pets talk back?”

“If they owned a parrot they might.”

“That is true.”

Conversation lagged, and awkward tension flowed between the two of them. Hermione sighed.

“Ok let’s start over from here,” she stuck out her hand. “I am Hermione Granger. I am sorry for breaking into your flat.”

With that bemused smile he took her hand. “I am Tom Riddle. I am sorry for attacking you before talking to you.”

Tom. That was his name. She had to hold back the giddy laugh that threatened to envelop her. “Nice to meet you Tom,” she said. “Now how about that drink?”

\--

“I have to admit, I have alternate reasons for asking you out tonight besides to apologize.”

Hermione looked up from her drink. She had forgotten the name of it already, but it was fruity, she liked fruity. She frowned when Tom’s words processed.

“It will take more than one drink to get into my pants Riddle.”

He snorted. “If I wanted to get you into bed Hermione I wouldn’t have to get you drunk first.”

“Someone is cocky.”

His eyebrow shot up. “Cocky? Hardly, I am merely confident. But we have changed topics.” His face was serious. “I wanted to talk to you about your research.”

She froze. “My research?”

“Yes. Your theories about soul connections and alternate realities are quite fascinating to me.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I have a friend at Hogwarts who let me look at your papers, your work is brilliant.”

She might have been flattered by the complement if she hadn’t been so angry. “Those papers were private; whoever gave them to you had no business giving away my work!”

He held his hands up. “Easy, he didn’t give me anything. He didn’t even let me copy it, he only let me look them over for a few minutes before he insisted on putting them away.”

“But you talk as if you had read them in-depth.”

“I have a photographic memory; all I needed was a moment.”

Hermione envied him the skill. “You are not trying to steal it?”

“Hardly, it fascinates me is all, and when the landlady told me your name I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to talk to you about it.”

“Even though I am a crazy cat lady who breaks into other people’s houses?”

“I think you need more cats to be classified as a cat lady.”

She smiled faintly, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. There was sugar. Without even thinking she stuck the finger in her mouth and sucked the sweetness from it. Tom was staring at her and she instantly dropped her finger. “Sorry… anyway most people think my research is crazy. That is has no substance. You wouldn’t believe how many times my colleagues tried to talk me out perusing it.”

“But you persisted.”

Hermione gave a rueful smile. “Yes. I did, I have been told I can be rather stubborn.”

“And did you find anything?”

She looked warily over at him. “You read my research; you know the answer to that.”

“Inconclusive, yes I know. But my question still stands.”

“If I had found something don’t you think I would have, at the very least, told someone about it?”

“Not if something had gone wrong, which I highly suspect it did.”

Hermione’s arm started to throb, and she rubbed at it absentmindedly. “Why would you make that assumption?”

“Because you were close.”

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “I was, but it came to nothing.”

“I don’t think so.”

Hermione stood abruptly. “It came to nothing.” She said firmly. “Thank you for the drink, I am going home.” She started to walk away.

“Walk away and I go to the police about you stalking me.”

Hermione had never been electrocuted before, but she imagined that this is what it would feel like. She turned to look down at him, his eyes had the lightning in them again. “What did you say?”

“I am not a man who makes idle threats. I have known about your little peeping excursions since I moved in. The only reason I did not confront you about it yesterday was because I didn't recognize you."

"All this time?"

He shrugged. "I had thought I could entice you to come to me of your own free will but you were not budging.”

“Why?” Was all she could think to ask.

“Your research, I have puzzled over it for months, trying to find the final piece to make it work. You have that key.”

“No.”

He frowned. “I am afraid you have no choice.”

“Yes I do. I choose to let you go to the police; you are _not_ getting my research, not now not ever.”

She spun on her heel and stormed off.

“Hermione!”

She ignored him and stomped out of the bar, she heard the sound of pounding footsteps behind her and she increased her pace.

“Damn it woman, stop.”

_Why is it so hard to run in heels?_ She mentally groused as Tom pulled up alongside her. She stopped, spun, and hit him square in the chest with her purse. He fell back, more surprised than hurt. “Stay away from me!”

“I can’t, I need you.”

“You _need_ me? There’s a laugh.”

Tom grit his teeth. “I need you to help me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have threatened me! Most women don’t respond kindly to that Tom.”

They were attracting attention. People were pausing in the street, watching intently. A few had pulled out camera phones. Tom had apparently noticed this just as soon as she did. “Keep your voice down and let me walk you home.” He growled low.

“No. I am going to call my friends and I am going to stay with them.” She pulled out her phone to do just that when Tom grabbed her arm. His grip hurt.

“ _Look at me_.” He hissed quietly, leaning down over her, forcing her to look up into his lightning eyes. “I am a desperate man, and I am quickly running out of time. I tried to do this nicely, don’t make me use force.”

Something clicked then. Like two puzzle pieces coming together. His eyes… his odd patterns of behavior… she had seen it before.

“You are like Bella.”

He frowned. “Bella?”

She shook her head and her arm started to throb with painful intensity. Memories started to flash across her mind’s eye and she started to shake. Tom looked confused, then alarmed. He peered around at the people who still lingered to watch them before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leading her away.

They hadn’t gone very far from their building, so it only took a few minutes for them to reach it. He pulled her into the lobby of the building. It was empty. “Hermione I need you to snap out of this and talk to me.”

She shook her head, and clutched her arm to her chest, cradling it as if it was freshly hurt. Tom slapped her cheek, hard enough to sting. She looked up at him, the flashing in his eyes had lessened but it was still there.

“Why would you do this to yourself?” She asked.

“I didn’t. I was happy where I was, with what I was doing, then it felt as if I was hit by lightning and my life almost ended right there.”’

“But it doesn’t just happen like that, it takes weeks to prepare-”

“It did, but not on my end.”

Horror filled her. “But that’s… immoral.”

Tom smiled bitterly. “Apparently he didn’t care.” Hermione’s knees went week and she buckled forward. Tom caught her and lowered them both to the ground. He slowly helped her lean back against the wall before he grabbed her hands and held them in his. “Before all of this I was a Doctor. Did you know that?”

She shook her head.

“I was helping people, hundreds of them. I started when I was eighteen. Gifted, they called me. I was world renowned by the time I turned twenty.”

“Doctor Tom Riddle.” She said out loud. Now she remembered where she had heard the name. Professor Slughorn had raved about him. His most talented student… apparently only rivaled by her. “Slughorn was going to introduce us.”

“Yes. He showed me your research to entice me back to meet you. I will admit it captured my curiosity. I was going to go, but then the lightning struck. I was a mess for weeks, and by the time I gained some control over myself and thought you go to you for help….”

“Bella.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t get near you, until now.”

“Why the flat?”

He grimaced. “I am hiding. I needed to get away from the people I cared for so I wouldn’t hurt them… my friends, my family, my patients. While I am like this they are all in danger.” He shut his eyes as if he were trying to fight through a painful headache. “Three months ago I wouldn’t have lifted a finger against anyone unless I was under threat, but now I lash out with disastrous results. My temper is out of control. Where before I would have simply asked for your help I have threatened and blackmailed you. I am out of control, and I am a man who has prided himself on always being in control at all times.”

“But my research… it couldn’t help you. It would just make everything worse.”

“There is an antidote to every poison. I need to know what you did so I can find a way to reverse it.”

“I can’t- I-”

“Please. You are my last hope.”

Emotions long buried reared their ugly heads, warring in her chest. “I need time.”

He grimaced before nodding. “I must tell you I don’t know how much longer I will remain in control.” Hermione nodded in return. “Let me walk you home.”

He kept his hand on her back the entire time. That gentle touch grounded her until she stepped into her flat and she shut the door on him. She kicked off her shoes, and shrugged off her coat, letting it fall to the ground. She unbuttoned her shirt, popping the buttons one by one until she should shrug off that too. She slipped out of her skirt next before all she wore was her underthings, but those were quickly gone too. She made her way into her bathroom and turned on the shower, it was hot, and she needed it hot.

She stepped under the spray and let it scald her. Hermione sat down, curled her knees up to her chest and buried her face into them. She let the water pound at her head and shoulders, the methodical pounding helping her mind to focus after all the turmoil. But when she found that she could focus, all she could think about was Bella Black, and the night her research had gone wrong.

Bella had been beautiful in every way. She was a dark goddess, much in the way Tom was a dark god. She was kind as well. A bit snooty, but really she meant well. She had volunteered to help Hermione with her research. Bella had been fascinated with the idea that there was another version of her a world away and that they could be connected.

“It would be like getting to know myself, seeing how I might have turned out should things had been different.”

That was all Hermione ever intended to do. Prove that there was a connection between this world and another like it… a whole other plain of existence… and open the way for communication between them.

She had used a combination of hypnosis, acupuncture, and meditation to prepare Bella’s subconscious. Then she tried different combinations of drugs to release Bella from her consciousnes and send her on her way. Ron and Harry would joke that all she was doing was getting people high and writing down what happened. But that wasn’t the case.

Bella’s mind, her SOUL, was going somewhere, and it was the same place every time. Each time Bella came back, she came back with a story of her other self. Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Bella Black, and the world of magic she lived in.

“It’s like I am a ghost, floating along behind her and learning about her life.” She had been so excited the first few times. Then something changed.

Bella had come back wrong. Hermione could tell. This woman was cold where Bella had been warm, and insane to boot. Her eyes… they had flashed like Tom’s had. Like there was electricity in them, bursting and sparking, trying to escape, and the madness she had found there was alarming. When she had noticed Hermione she had screamed, not a fearful scream, but one full of deep bitter rage and she had attacked her.

The next few days had been the worse of her entire life. Bellatrix tortured her relentlessly, asking about people and places she had no clue about, demanding things from Hermione that she didn’t understand, and when she didn’t get the answers she wanted. She would cut into Hermione’s arm. Again, and again, and again… the same word each and every time Mudblood.

Sometimes Bellatrix reverted back to her old self and she would weep over Hermione, trying to soothe her and help her, but those moments never lasted long. Bellatrix would always return. She made that distinction the first day. The girl she knew was Bella, the other entity was Bellatrix, it was Bellatrix hurting her, not Bella, it was Bellatrix that strapped her down and cut her up. It was hard to make the distinction when they wore the same face.

She had given up hope of being found after the third day. She had just broken up with Ron, and Ginny and Harry were doing their best to comfort him, and she had let them. Ron needed them more than she did. But that meant they wouldn’t be looking for her. Her parents were used to not being contacted for long periods of time. The room she was using was out of the way and private, only Bella, Slughorn, and she had a key to it and Slughorn was gone for the month. She would be dead before then, she was positive.

Harry had saved her life.

She should have guessed it would be Harry who found her. He seemed to have a sixth sense for trouble. Hermione had wept in relief when he busted down the door. It only took him a second to realize what was happening. She was bound to her own examination table and gagged with a torn off section of her own skirt, and Bellatrix had been prattling madly to herself in the corner.

The ensuing fight was vicious, but Harry, wonderful, beautiful, Harry won the day.

The next few weeks were a blur of court trials, questionings, and doctors. Her arm was scarred, it was large and purple and ugly and it hurt all the time. They gave her drugs for it at first, but when it still throbbed after it had fully healed they stopped. Psychosomatic pain, they said, and told her the name of a good trauma therapist.

She ignored it though; she didn’t need some telling her it would be alright over and over again for three hundred dollars a session.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to forget it. But no one would let her until she finally pressed charges against Bellatrix. She hadn’t wanted to. It was Hermione’s fault. But it was Bella who had convinced her to do it in the end. In one of her lucid moments she requested to see Hermione, and Hermione, despite her fear and the lawyer her parents had hired for her, went to see her.

“Make sure I am locked up Hermione, I am too dangerous to be out in public. Do what you have to.”

Hermione had agreed. Bella was put away, and Hermione got a huge lump sum for her trouble. She didn’t touch the money for weeks and wallowed in guilt instead. She quit her job, although they insisted on calling it a sabbatical for her health, moved out of her parents house (Where she had been staying, she left Ron their old flat.) and was determined to start fresh. That was when Tom happened… and now everything was coming back.

She sat in that shower until it turned cold and she had to leave it behind to warm her numb body. She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and slowly made her way to her bedroom. She didn’t notice Crookshanks following along behind her until he leapt up onto the bed and purred so loudly she was convinced he would lose his voice. She cuddled him close to her chest and the cat let her and she stayed like that for the rest of the night, and most of the next day, until the feline wriggled out of her grasp.

“Merorr.”

He looked at her expectantly but when she didn’t move he raced out of the room. He came back a few minutes later, scooting his cat bowl ahead of him.

“Merow.”

She slowly sat up. _That’s right… I need to take care of Crookshanks. I can’t afford to just lay about feeling sorry for myself._

“Ok, I am getting up.”

The cat purred and trotted along at her heels until she reached the kitchen. Then he leapt up onto his chair at the kitchen table and waited. Hermione made him tuna and was about to go back to bed when the cat growled low in his throat.

“What?”

He glared at her.

“I want to go back to bed.”

His glare deepened and his tail gave an ominous twitch.

“Fine, I will make myself something and sit.”

That pleased the cat and he finally started in on his dinner. True to her word Hermione made a salad, and sat across from the bossy feline. Crookshanks looked at it disdainfully but didn’t complain while she ate it. _Why do I get the feeling that cat is smarter then he lets on?_

Her grandmother once told her that cats were able to speak but smart enough not to. Perhaps that was true?

“…you can’t talk can you?”

The cat’s ear twitched and he said nothing.

“Didn’t think so.”

When she finished her dinner she slowly made her way back to her room. But Crookshanks beat her to it. He leaped onto the unmade bed and crouched down in the center of it. His ears back, and his tail lashing.

“Oh come now Crookshanks-”

The cat’s hiss cut her off.

When she tried to touch the sheets he clawed at her hand.

“Ok FINE, what would you have me do?”

Chookshanks’ ear twitched and he nimbly walked over to her head board. He stood on his hind legs and batted at her picture of lions.

“You want me to look in on Tom?”

“Meow.”

“But-“

“ _Meow._ ”

“Alright fine, just don’t try and scratch me.”

She pulled out the nail and the painting, set them aside and looked. Tom was on his bed, lying flat on his back. He was only in a pair of boxer shorts but she didn’t have time to be embarrassed about it. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his skin was red. His eyes were wild, the lighting raging through the grey depths. He opened his mouth, perhaps to scream, or to call for help, but all that came out was a squeak, as if someone had cut off the flow of air to his lungs.

_He needs help._ Her first instinct was to call for an ambulance. But she couldn’t, how could she explain what the problem was?

“Hello, yes my neighbor’s other self from an alternate universe is trying to take control of his body.”

She probably wouldn’t get past ‘Alternate universe’ before she was hung up on.

Hermione would have to do something herself then, and fast. But what?

“My bag!” She suddenly remembered. She raced to her closet and started to tear through it. Her little black bag, it had her needles in it, and a few samples of the drug she used. She had snuck them out of her lab so no one could try what she had and destroyed the rest. But she might be able to do something for Tom with what she had.

She found it buried under a pile of shoe boxes. Without another thought she grabbed it and raced for her front door, unlocking it in record time and bursting out. She looked up and down the hall way, no one was around. Not that she would have cared. She went for Tom’s door grabbing the knob and shaking it. Locked.

“Damn it.” She swore and threw her shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge. _It usually works in the movies._ She thought with a groan. _Not so much in real life._

“Merow!”

She had left her front door open and Crookshanks was peering out. _Follow the cat._ She stood and went after him, Crookshanks turned and dashed back into the flat. She followed him, when she turned the corner the cat was sitting by the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony.

“The balcony, Crookshanks you are brilliant!”

 The cat purred at the praise, and leaned into her touch when she gave him a scratch on her way out the door. She hopped the bars separating the flats clumsily, and pulled open Tom’s door. It was unlocked. She went into the sparse flat, ran down the hallway, and threw open the door to Tom’s room.

He opened his eyes, his pupils were dilated and his breathing was out of control.

“He- he-”

“Don’t try and talk. I am going to try and help you Tom, do you have anything I can use to keep you still? Shake your head yes or no.”

He did neither; his eyes flickered toward the trunk at the foot of the bed, back to her, then back to the trunk. She got the message. Hermione put down her bag and opened the trunk. Inside were enough chains and locks to make Houdini nervous. She shifted through all of these to find a few pairs of simple handcuffs.

Tom glared at her as she approached with them.

“You glare at me like my cat does; I am growing rather immune to it just so you know.”

He groaned and threw his head back. His hands clutched at the mattress under him and his back arched. She raced to his side and reached for him. One of his hands shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could touch him. Her heart stopped in her chest. His eyes were red. Not blood shot, or red because of a burst blood vessel. The iris had changed COLOR. He opened his mouth to say something but he suddenly shut his eyes tightly and screamed.

Hermione was convinced he was going to break bones he squeezed her wrist so hard. Then he stopped. He flopped down, limp as a dead fish. Her wrist slipped from his grip and she rubbed it for a moment, watching Tom warily for a repeat, but he didn’t move. She needed to check his vital signs, but first she needed to get him secure. She handcuffed his hands together above his head to his bedframe. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it would hold him. She did the same with his feet.

When she was sure he would be secure she quickly checked his pulse. It was steady, if a bit high. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, he was really warm. She would have to cool him down.

“I will be right back.” She said to his prone form. He didn’t even twitch.

She went for his kitchen, grabbing a large unused bowl before going over to his tiny fridge. To her relief he had ice, but in a bag. Store bought. She would have to monitor the supply carefully. She poured a good portion into the bowl and filled it with cool water. Finally she found a dishtowel and threw it into the bowl.  She made her way back to Tom as quickly as she could without spilling something.

He was moaning weakly. She set the bowl down by his bed and crouched down next to it. She wrung out the washcloth and slowly started to wipe down Tom. He twitched weakly against the feeling of the cool fabric, but because of the cuffs he couldn’t get far.

“You know, I wanted to do something with handcuffs with my last boyfriend.” She said idly, trying to fill the silence with SOMETHING. “He told me he would rather die than submit to a woman in the bedroom… I should have known then and there we were not right for one another. Ron never was willing to try anything new.”

She drew the cloth over Tom’s forehead, down his neck, over his chest, along the rim of his boxers, and down his legs over and over again.  “But I thought I was in love with him, so I didn’t bother with handcuffs again. Or anything else for that matter… the sex was boring. But when you love someone you put up with that kind of thing right?”

Tom twitched weakly. “It got worse the more time went on, we had nothing in common. He loved sports and drinking and I loved quiet music and books. In some relationships I suppose it could work, but we were like oil and water. You could put us together and hope we might mix, but no matter what you do, we still separate back into being oil and water.”

“Did you break it off or did he?”

Tom’s eyes were open. She was so startled she dropped her cloth. His eyes were back to grey, dark and swirling, but there was no lightning in them. Then what he said registered.

“I did. I don’t think he would have left me, he was happy with the sex and my cooking.”

“Sounds _charming_.”

“He had his moments… are you ok?”

“For now, Voldemort is dormant.”

She frowned. “Voldemort?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “It’s what he calls himself. The name Tom is too plebian for him.”

“I think Tom is a fine name.” She said and drew the cloth down his chest again.

“As do I, and that bothers him,” Tom frowned. “He is in such pain.”

“You pity him?”

Tom snorted. “That would come too close to pitying myself. No, he dug his own grave and now he has to lie in it, so to speak.” At Hermione’s inquiring look he continued. “He killed himself, unintentionally, and now he seeks refuge inside my body… no not refuge. He seeks to dominate me and try and keep the work he started going, and I will not let him.” He gave a weak chuckle. “He didn’t expect me to be any different than he was.”

“How is he?”

Tom looked her dead in the eye. “Evil, he has no conscious to speak of. Should he take over me-”

“He won’t.”

“Kill me.”

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. “You are asking me to commit murder.”

“To prevent the murders of hundreds of others, I have seen what he can do Hermione, with and without magic. You do not want that kind of evil here.”

“… I will do my best.”

Tom sighed. “I suppose that is the most I can ask form you.” He winced. “Keep talking to me, that seems to keep him dormant.”

So she did. She talked about herself, her friends, her family, even about Crookshanks.

“…Tom how we get rid of him?” She finally asked.

“I don’t know. I have been making do with a potion I found in his mind but it is severely weakened because of the limited amount of magic in this world.”

“There is MAGIC here?”

“Not much, but it is growing. In a few thousand years, humans could even spawn a wizard.”

“How do you know?”

“Voldemort told me, or rather his thoughts told me. He could sense the dormant magic of this world, and automatically tried to call for it. But my body was not built for magic and we were both knocked out for days. That was when he lost control of my body and I regained it.”

“He had control of you?”

“For a time, when he first came and I had no idea how to fight him I was just a passenger in my own body.”

“How do you keep him out?”

“Occlumency, it’s a magical ability rendering me capable of blocking him into a corner of my mind.”

She frowned. “If its magical how can you use it?”

“I don’t know… when he called to the magic. It did something to me, it hollowed me out filled me back up again with magic as if I were some great ruddy storage container. Don’t get too excited,” Tom said with a glare at her apparent eager expression. “I can hardly use any of it and even when I can manage to do something magical it drains me so badly Voldemort takes over.”

“So it’s not a permanent solution then.”

“It could be, but I would have to maintain it 24/7 and I need to sleep eventually.”

Hermione frowned. “How do you block him off?”

It was Tom’s turn to frown. “It is hard to explain… I suppose I build a mental box around him and hold him there. It’s rudimentary compared to what I have seen him do, but it works. For now my will is stronger than his.” He looked at the wall intently, but he was not really looking at the wall, his mind was far away. “He has a hard time in my mind, things like joy, peace, regret, they hurt him. It’s those emotions I made the box out of.”

“What about love?”

Tom blinked and stared at her. “I… can say quite honestly I have never been in love.”

“It doesn’t have to be romantic love, what about love for a pet or a family member?”

“I only have one pet and she is rather hard to love, and I have no close family. My parents treated me rather coldly growing up. They only got married because he got her pregnant and that strain ruled their lives.”

“That’s terrible.”

“That is life. Two people make a decision and everyone around them suffers.” He winced and a bit of lightning returned to his eyes. “Negative emotions seem to fuel him.”

“So let’s stop talking about your parents. What about your work, surely you enjoy that?”

He smiled and the lightning faded. “That I do.”

He told her about his hospital. Funny anecdotes about the people he worked with. The look in a person’s eyes who life he had saved. “It’s akin to worship, I _live_ for that feeling of snatching people back from the brink , and letting the world know it was me and having them laud me.”

“Sounds like you have a bit of a God complex.”

“All doctors have a bit of a complex. At least all the ones I have met do.”

She snorted. “You all sound rather insufferable.”

He grinned, it made his face light up. “It’s a part of our charm.”

She laughed for a moment before sobering. “What are we going to do Tom… about Voldemort?”

“Honestly, all I know to do is to take my potion. All the books I have read all talk about things like possession and alternate realities, but really you are the only one in the world with practical knowledge. I defer to you.”

“All of my research involves trying to get TO another reality though, nothing about getting someone from another reality back… and the fact that he has no body to go back to may factor into it.”

“But how did you get Bella,” she flinched “Back after sending her?”

“She had her body. All souls are intimately connected to their own bodies, and, eventually, will return to them unless the body is destroyed. Or so I assume. I haven’t had to deal with a spirit without a body to return to… nor did I ever plan on having to deal with it.”

“Couldn’t you just do what you normally would to cast out a soul?

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know who I would be casing out. You, or him, or both of you, I don’t know who would come back or if one could come back at all. If you can block him, safe to say if he had control he could block you.”

Tom stared up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative. “We can save that as a last resort. In the meantime, we can research. With my knowledge of the arcane and yours of the techniques here I am sure we can think of something. ”

They talked and planned late into the night until Tom dozed off, and Hermione, who was leaning against the bed from her position on the ground, quickly followed him.

\--

Tom was screaming. Hermione was jolted awake by the horrible sound; his skin was a deep red again. She looked down at the water, there was still some ice inside it. _It must still be cool_. She grabbed her washcloth and stared to drag it over his skin, and began talking again.

This time she talked about her parent’s house, her mother and father, stories of vacations they had all taken together. The laughs, the tears, the joys, his eyes opened and she faltered slightly when she saw the red irises. Voldemort didn’t speak though, he didn’t seem able to. His jaw worked but no sound came out. So she kept talking.

She talked about school, her friends. His eyes narrowed when she mentioned how she had met Harry and Ron. A large boy everyone called the troll had cornered her in the bathroom, ready and willing to beat her senseless. Harry and Ron had come after her, protected her, and in return she had protected them from the wrath of the teachers for leaving class in the middle of the lesson. They had been friends ever since.

Voldemort’s red eyes slowly faded back into Tom’s grey the more she talked about Harry and  Ron… but mostly Harry. His name seemed like kryptonite.

“Did Harry and Ron really hijack a car?” Tom asked when he was back in control.

Hermione nodded in exasperation. “They had missed the bus and they were already in deep trouble with the chemistry professor.”

“In what sane and logical world does grand theft auto seem better than being a bit late?”

“You haven’t met Snape.”

His head lifted. “ _Severus_ Snape?”

“You know him?”

“I took courses with him in college, he has to be one of the most abrasive men I have ever met. He’s a teacher? Of children?”

“Last time I checked.”

Tom laughed. “I think I understand the stealing a car story better.” That’s when she noticed Tom shift uncomfortably. “Bathroom.” He grumbled. Hermione’s cheeks turned beet red and her hands went instantly went to the handcuffs. “Don’t. You can’t afford to let me go.”

“Then how are you going to… you know….”

“I think I have an empty bottle around here somewhere,” he looked over at her. “Now is not the time to be squeamish.”

“No but-”

“Unless you want me lying in a puddle of my own urine I need your help.”

Cheeks burning she patted around the ground until she found an old bottle with a relatively wide neck. Firewhisky.

“You really shouldn’t drink this stuff; it will burn a hole in your stomach.”

“Better than listening to a dark lord’s memories over and over again, now stop stalling.”

She gulped and looked down at his boxers. Perfectly ordinary boxers, no big deal, the fabric was even nice. The thought as she ran a hand over it.

“Woman, I am going to have a very different problem if you keep stroking me like that.”

She pulled back her hand as if she had touched something hot… she was sure her cheeks would fall off they were burning so badly.

“For the love of God just reach in, grab it and aim. It’s not hard.” Hermione buried her face into her hands and tried to stop the hysterical laughter from bubbling up. “You are not some bumbling virgin, you know what a penis looks like, now just get over it and-”

She pulled down his boxers and grabbed his penis causing him to yelp like a startled puppy. “You couldn’t have warmed up your hands first?” He groused as she manipulated him.

“Stop complaining and do your business.”

“No need to get bossy.”

She frowned and turned away. She did her best not to think of the hot organ her hand was wrapped around, but it was almost impossible. As a last result to take her mind off of it she started to recite, in order, all the chemical elements she knew.

She felt him twitch in her palm. _Oh lord._

“You can let go of me any time… not that I am complaining too much.”

She let go of him instantly and was out of the room, the now full bottle in hand. She emptied it, threw it in the trash, and stomped back to Tom. He was laughing his head off… and his penis was still out. _He is half erect!_ She mentally squeaked and was about to back off when he spoke up.

“ _That_ is your fault. A man can only keep his composure for so long with a beautiful woman’s hand wrapped around him.”

“Shut up!” She hissed.

“Oh it’s not like it is going to bite you, if you don’t like looking at it just pull my boxers back up… actually don’t bother.” She dared to look him in the eye, the lightning was flickering there and for a moment she worried. “Poor sod. Lived and died a virgin, he doesn’t know what to make of this. I think we might kill him if we actually had sex.”

“Or we could go back to our original plan of researching another way of getting him out of you.”

He shrugged. “My way is more fun. But alright.”

“Good, now you were telling me about a banishment spell…”

\--

Nothing was working.

Neither the rudimentary spells Tom was able to perform nor the potions he had Hermione make for him. Her drugs didn’t work either; neither did hypnotism, acupuncture, or even, aromatherapy. Although neither of them really expected that one to work. They tried chanting prayers in Latin, three kinds of exorcisms, and simple prayer although neither of them were religious.

Through it all Tom grew worse. His fevers lasted longer and longer and Hermione couldn’t cool him down as fast as she used to. Voldemort’s appearances lasted longer as well. He could even manage to speak a bit, but never in English. It was a snake langue, Tom would explain, called parseltongue. When she asked what he had been saying Tom would look away from her.

“You don’t want to know.”

Tom’s spirits were dropping every day. They stopped talking in-between the breaks they took. He stopped talking about his work, his friends, he even stopped teasing her when she helped him go to the bathroom. It became harder and harder to find stories to tell him when he was in-between being himself and Voldemort.

While he slept that night, she got up onto the bed and curled into his side. “Don’t give up Tom,” she whispered and stroked his chest. “I would miss you if you were gone.”

 She dozed off on his shoulder.

When her eyes opened again she saw Voldemort staring back.

“Well, well, the little Mudblood awakes.”

“Voldemort.”

“It speaks as well, and dare says Lord Voldemort’s name.”

She put a hand on his chest. He wasn’t warm at all. “No fever.”

“This body is no longer trying to reject me so naturally there is no illness in it. Despite your and my other self’s attempts Lord Voldemort has settled in quite nicely.”

“You are still bound, and I can still expel you.”

Voldemort closed his eyes and to her horror she heard locks spring. Before she could do anything he had flipped over so that he was on top of her. “My other self has grown quite attached to you, your stories and your work have impressed and amused him. Lord Voldemort does not understand the attraction.”

“Because you are a monster and he is not.”

“He has emotions, but that makes him no less a monster. Lord Voldemort sees and knows everything your Tom Riddle does, and oh the horrors he has seen.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The man shrugged. “It matters not, in a moment you will be dead. But I will grant you a few final words, as a reward for showing me the way to this world through dear Bellatrix.”

Hermione looked up into Voldemort’s eyes, and saw a sliver of grey around the reptilian pupil. Her Tom was still there and perhaps still listening. She reached out and touched Voldemort’s cheek, watching as the man frowned in confusion.

“I love you Tom.”

It was like watching glass shatter. Veins of grey laced through the red of his eyes and lightning flashed brightly.

“What did you say?” It was as If two voices were speaking at once.

“I love you. I figure now would be the best time to tell you.”

Voldemort/Tom screamed and buried his face into her neck, and she held absolutely still as he screamed and thrashed on top of her. Sparks went down his spine. They looked like blue fireflies, flashing in and out of existence before a great black cloud rose up out of Tom’s skin. The shadowy thing shrieked in agony before zooming away.

Something had been forcibly evicted. If it was Tom or Voldemort she didn’t know, she waited until his muscles stopped trembling before daring to call out.

“Tom?”

The man looked wearily up, and his eyes were the dark grey of storm clouds.

“You love me?” His face was an inch away from hers.

She blushed. “Well I had to say SOMETHING to get him out of you.”

He smirked. “So it was all a lie then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No you didn’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Oh just kiss me already!”

He laughed. “I thought you would never ask.”

And so Tom kissed Hermione for the first time. _Hopefully the first of many._ She thought with a smirk against his lips.

 

The END.


End file.
